


Bunker Down

by The67ImpalaDragonChild



Series: The Touch Point [3]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Supernatural, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Awesome Charlie Bradbury, Bucky Barnes Feels, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Bucky Barnes Recovering, Bucky Barnes-centric, Charlie Bradbury is a Winchester, Mind Control Aftermath & Recovery, Protective Winchesters (Supernatural)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-28
Updated: 2019-06-29
Packaged: 2019-12-25 21:14:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,055
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18269447
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The67ImpalaDragonChild/pseuds/The67ImpalaDragonChild
Summary: The AssetThe SoldierBuckyHe doesn't know who he is. But he knows he can't keep running. Knows it's killing him inside. Sooner or later, it'll get him killed for real. He might not know much, but he knows he's not ready to die. A dark haired man in a trench coat gave him coordinates. Told him here, here you will be safe. Now he's here, and he's waiting to see if that's true.-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------The Winchesters have been waiting for this.All the kings horses, and all the kings men, but it'll take three hunters to put the soldier together again.





	1. The Arrival

**Author's Note:**

> A while back a friend threw together a piece for a different fandom, in which she explored first experiences for the characters in each new chapters. And I thought that felt pretty appropriate for our favorite soldier (Sorry Steve, Bucky's our favorite and you know it. He's your favorite too, don't deny it!). Everything's been taken from him, and all the world's new.
> 
> I'll add to the tags as I go, and if I think something's going to get dicey I'll try to add additional warnings at the top of the chapter. But honestly, I'm not expecting too much angst from this piece, it's mostly just going to be Bucky Barnes getting all the love and care he deserves. 
> 
> I'm not sure how long this thing is going to be. I'm getting the impression that this is just going to be a series of sneak peeks into Bucky's recovery at the bunker that is going to go for as long as the ideas keep coming. Hope you guys like it!
> 
> Now: ON TO THE STORY!!!

* * *

_ “He can’t keep going like this Castiel.” Gabriel whispered. “He’s wearing himself out. If his heels wear down any further the ground’s going to start biting back. He needs someplace safe to rest and recover himself, or there won’t be anything left.” _

_ “He’s not ready to go back to Steve.” Castiel gestured helplessly. “But Steve is the only one he might trust. He’s been hurt too badly for him to trust anyone else. I’m surprised he didn’t try to shoot me tonight when I came to heal him. I know he can’t go on much longer. He’s tired of running. But there’s nowhere to run to. He’s not ready to face all the memories Steve conjures up.” _

_ “Who says Steve is the only option?” _

* * *

 

_ Steve bolted upright in bed.  _

Captain Rogers, is everything alright ?

_ “Yeah, Friday. I’m fine.” The captain waved away the A.I.’s concern. Still sniffling, he wiped at teary eyes and went to stare out the window at the stars.  _

_ He didn’t tell her about the nightmare he’d been having.  _

_ About the peaceful feeling that had chased it away.  _

_ He didn’t say anything about the gruff, familiar voice that had spoken into that space between waking and dreams. _

_ Rest easy. James Buchanan Barnes is safe. _

_ Steve put his head against the glass. Later, he would wonder why Castiel was so vague in his message. He would wonder where his best friend was. What he was doing. Whether he was alright.  _

_ Later, he would have so many questions. But for now, all he could feel was grateful that his friend was safe. _

_ “Thanks Castiel.” _

* * *

No act of kindness, no matter how small, is ever wasted. -Aesop

* * *

Charlie opened the door.

A man stood in the rain. He was scruffy and dirty, and looked about as happy as a wet cat. Truth be told for a second she’d thought he was a hobo. A ratty backpack hung off one shoulder, and he had a glove on his left hand that didn’t quite cover the dull glint of worn metal. And he  _ stank _ . Even over fresh rain, wet dirt, and leaf litter she could  _ still _ smell him. 

He shuffled, casting a skittish glance over his shoulder. “He said this place was safe…?”

Charlie smiled, everything finally falling into place.

This was the man Castiel had told them about. 

This was James Barnes. 

She opened the door wider. “He was right. Castiel told us  you might come this way. Come on in.” 

Instead of making him walk past her, she retreated to the stairs. He probably wouldn’t be comfortable having a stranger behind him. Not that she would  _ do _ anything to him! Or  _ could _ for that matter! Dean had drummed some skills into her, but this man was on a whole other level! 

He cautiously stepped inside.

“Could you close the door behind you? The ‘bat cave’ is warded against most of the evil stuff, but warding doesn’t always work if you leave the door open. Not that we’re expecting anything, it’s been pretty quiet lately. And…. man, I’m just going to stop talking now.” She fumbled to a stop, embarrassed. She always rambled when she was nervous.

He raised an eyebrow, but did as she asked. 

It was taking more self-restraint than she’d even known she had not to fangirl at him. Imagine! Sergeant James Barnes, back from the dead! Or, rather, not from the  _ dead _ but you got the idea. Back from Hydra? And holy hell! She was meeting the infamous Winter Soldier! He was in her home! 

“Um, right. Sorry, I ramble when I’m nervous and I shouldn’t be, I know, but I am and… Yeah, shutting up before I talk myself into trouble. Come on in!” The redhead trotted down the stairs with a jaunty wave for him to follow her. “I’m Charlie by the way, Charlie Winchester. Oh! And just so you know, there’s two other dudes here right now. They’re my brothers. Don’t let them scare you, they’re growly sometimes, but they’re real sweethearts! I should probably let them know that you’re here though. Unless it’s Cas or Gabriel, if someone shows up out of thin air it’s a bad thing. Usually. Is it ok if I call them? Or….?”

“It’s fine.” Bucky muttered. 

“Oh. Cool.” Still leading him through a sort of library, she raised her voice. “Sam! Dean! We got a visitor!”

“What?” A man came hurrying out of the hall at the back, sleeves rolled back and  drying his hands on a dishtowel. He was tall, close to Steve’s height. Brown hair, green eyes. The man was muscular, and carried himself like a fighter, Buckey noted.

The soldier immediately marked him a threat.

“Who is it? We weren’t expecting… Oh. Right, I forgot Cas said he might be headed this way.” The man tossed the dish towel over his shoulder and offered a hand. “Dean Winchester. Glad you made it.” 

Bucky made no move to shake it, and Dean let it drop.

He didn’t seem bothered by the rejection. “Cas said you’re still sorting your shit out in your head. Didn’t know what you’d wanna be called. You got a preference on a name?” 

A name. 

It was the first time that someone had asked, rather than just assigning him one. He awkwardly shrugged a shoulder. “I… I’m not…” 

He struggled with the words, the concept getting tangled like a bad fishing line. But Charlie and Dean didn’t immediately jump in and try to sort it out for him. He’d noticed the tendency in what few others he’d interacted with since he’d broken his programing. They saw him struggle with words, jumped in with words of their own trying to help, and only tangled him up further.  

It was… refreshing, to be able to sort it out for himself.

“The man on the bridge. He called me ‘Bucky’.” They were nodding, so he pushed on. “He said my name was… was James Buchanan Barnes… I don’t… I don’t remember being James Barnes. My handlers called me  _ Soldat _ .” He could remember another name. Could remember a small little girl with bright red hair calling for ‘Yasha’. 

For him. 

He didn’t mention that name. It had been a secret. He didn’t know why. For all he knew, it still was. And he didn’t want her hurt. He didn’t know who she was, but she had meant something to him once. It might have been recently. It might have been a long time ago. He didn’t know. There was no way to be sure.

But he wasn’t going to chance it.

“Yeah, somehow I don’t think we should follow your handlers’ example. Do you want to be James?” Dean asked. “Or would you rather be Bucky?”

“I… I think Bucky would be better.”

Dean nodded. “Cool. There’s a couple rooms we keep dangerous shit in, just so’s you’re aware. We marked those off with red tape. Green are open to anyone, and yellow means you probably shouldn’t leave a kid in there unattended.” Bucky raised an eyebrow and Dean waved it off. “Yeah, long story short we sort of had a family staying here with us for protection for a while. Anyway, most of the yellow rooms are marked  because of weapons or tools or something like that. Oh, and the bedrooms. But that’s more for privacy than anything else… Um, what did Cas tell you about what we do?”

“Not much. Jus’ that you were dodging the law, and wouldn’t turn me in.” He shifted his bag higher on his shoulder, shuffling under their gaze. “He said you’d understand, a bit. About being forced…” 

“Yeah… yeah, we would.” Dean agreed. He seemed to think about it for a minute, then shrugged. “Screw it. We’ll explain about our job later. For now, all you need to know is that we’re what you’d call hunters. We live under the radar, and we aren’t expecting anyone. Someone shows up here? And you don’t recognize them? Assume they’re not friendly.  _ Don’t _ engage. You stay out of sight, and let us know. It’ll probably be a friend of ours, this is one of the best warded buildings in the country. But on the off chance something  _ does _ get in, normal weapons wouldn’t work anyway. For now Charlie and I’ll introduce you to our brother Sam, and get you settled in.”

“Just like that?!” Bucky ducked his head, embarrassed. He hadn’t meant to blurt it out. “I’m… I’m an assassin. And you’re not… concerned?”

The hunter cocked his head, studying his new houseguest. “You had an episode since the helicarrier?”

A shudder ran down his spine at the memory of ice and cold orders. Of having no control. And no way to get it back.

“No.”

Charlie beamed. “Good for you!”

She  _ had _ to crazy.

Her brother sighed. “Charlie?”

“Yeah?”

“Dial it back a notch or ten. Okay? I agree with you, but give him a chance to get used to you  _ before _ you adopt him, ok?” To Bucky, he added “Though seriously, good for you. Comin’ back is friggin’ hard. We know you’re an assassin, that you’re probably one of the best in the business. But I also know Cas. And that he sees more than most. God knows he does with  _ me _ . He says you’re a good man.”

“He’s mistaken. Good men… they don’t have the body count I do.”

“Maybe. Maybe not. Most folks with a body count don’t have to be  _ forced _ either. Since you left D.C., that body count gotten any higher?”

Bucky tensed. “...yes.”

“You have any other choice when you did?”

“... no.”

“A bad man wouldn’t ‘ave given two shits about taking lives.” His expression became pensive. “I don’t like the idea of taking a human life. But I’ve done it. And given the same choices I wouldn’t hesitate to do it again… God knows I got no room to throw the first stone. You’re a good man Bucky, and you’re trying to get your shit together. I can respect that. An’ I’ll help you any way I can.” 

The assassin ducked his head, unsure what to say. “...thank you,” was what he finally settled on. Maybe it would be enough. Bucky hoped so. He didn’t have anything else to offer.

“You’re welcome.” Dean’s eyes hardened. “That being said: I have four siblings. Two of ‘em live here with me. Hurt my brothers or sister on purpose, famous assassin or not; I’ll hand you your ass. We clear?”

“That sounds fair.” Bucky agreed. He hesitated, “Weapons?” 

Dean snorted. “I sure as hell ain’t going to be the one who tries to take a weapon off of you. You and I both know that wouldn’t end well. Plus, dude, there’s a friggin’  _ scimitar _ on the shelf over there. The whole bunker is kitted out with with more weapons than the average gun store, and at least a  _ third _ of them are on  _ display _ . It’s sort of a moot point.” He turned and lead Bucky further into the bunker. “Come on. Sam’s out in the garage for once. It’s best if you meet him first. Then we’ll show you your room and give you a tour of the place. Fair warning though? My brother is a frickin’ moose.” 

Bucky blinked. “...a moose?”

Charlie smothered her laughter. “You’ll see.”

Wondering what on earth this crazy woman and her brother could mean, he followed them. They led him through paneled hallways and up a short flight of stairs into a large garage. A man was seated cross legged on the floor, hunched over what looked like miles of string laid out in an intricate pattern. It was fully twelve feet at its widest. But the pattern didn’t seem to please him. He kept poking it. Adjusting this piece or that. 

“Sam.” Dean called.

“In a second, I think I’ve almost got this…” He adjusted one more piece of the cord. Abruptly, the cord glowed gold and he jerked his hands back. “Got it! Dean, I got it!” 

He looked up excitedly. 

“Awesome Sammy.” Dean praised, pride tugging at the corners of his smile. “Now how about you put your knitting away and come meet our guest?”

“Right.” Sam twitched a loop of cord, and the glow faded away. He unfolded his massive frame and climbed to his feet. 

The soldier’s eyebrows rose. This ‘Sam’ character was easily over six feet tall. And  _ broad _ ! A moose indeed. Bucky wasn’t sure, but he had the niggling impression of someone telling him a moose could get as tall as six foot nine. Though who would tell him that, or  _ why _ was something of a mystery.

Either way, this man wasn’t far off the mark!

He also moved with the same hint towards combat training that the soldier had noted in Dean. Size just added another level to the threat factor. He watched the man warily.

Sam smiled easily, offering a welcoming hand. Bucky didn’t take it. Much like Dean, Sam didn’t make an issue of it, moving on without batting an eyelash. “Hey, we’re glad you made it safely. Cas said you might come here and we were worried you might run into trouble on the way.”

“I can handle it.” The soldier asserted.

“If anyone can, it’s you.” Sam agreed easily.

For the first time in decades, the soldier felt awkward, and was bothered by the sensation. Unsure of what to say, but wanting to dispel the horrible sensation, he cast around for something. Anything. His eyes settled on the string laid out in pattern on the cement. It looked like normal string, but he’d seen it glow. 

He jerked his chin at it. “What’s that?”

The massive man’s face lit up like a child’s and he went back to his miles of string. Twitching a loop back to its original position, he set the whole massive array glowing beautiful and golden again. 

“It’s protection, of a sort. The Men of Letters weren’t entirely sure of the origins, though they were looking into it.  _ Apparently _ protection from the supernatural through  _ textiles _ was a thing. They’d lay out these intricate defensive designs on cloth and let them sit. It puts out a fair bit of heat. Not enough to actually set it on fire, but enough to darken the fabric. Then they’d embroider over it, and make them into clothes. The designs had to be exactly right though, or else they didn’t work. It took a lot of practice to get it consistently. I’ve been fiddling with this for hours to get it just right.”

The soldier cocked his head. He couldn’t see any tactical advantage to arranging string in a weirdly exact decorative form. Or how it could constitute as protection. Against what? He thought Sam had said ‘supernatural’, but… that couldn’t be right. 

Could it?

“Protection against what?”

“Supernatural creatures.” Sam unknowingly confirmed. “Though legend says it was supposed to ward evil away from your home and improve the health of the people who wore them more than anything. The Men of Letters didn’t know. They were still looking into a lot of this.” He rolled his shoulders. “I don’t know. I just thought I’d try. Either way, the legend is very specific about not leaving the template ‘unattended and unsecure’. Not sure what happens, but the warnings are usually there for a reason.” He twitched a loop out of alignment again, cutting the glow. “Usually they turned these things into capes and robes and stuff. I think. I’m going to ask Cas the next time he swings by, see if he knows what this ward is effective on.”

“Supernatural creatures?” Bucky  _ couldn’t _ have heard that right. But that was the second time they’d said it...

“Well, so much for breaking it to him gently.” Dean grumbled. “Yeah, the supernatural world is a thing. As if the world isn’t weird enough already.”

Maybe they were all crazy. 

He’d wandered into a nut house. That was the only possible answer… well, at least he’d fit right in. But still… “You’re certain? There were people… They could do things normal people couldn’t. I think they’re called mutants now?”

“Mutants definitely make our job a lot harder.” Sam agreed. “But the supernatural world has it’s own set of rules. Mutants are still human beings, they don’t have to obey those rules. The things we hunt do. A ghost will always hate salt and iron. A demon will always flinch at the name of god in latin. Werewolves always hunt around the full moon…”

“And witches are always so freakin’ skeevey.” Dean gave a dramatic shudder.

Charlie rolled her eyes. “You’ve faced down heaven, hell, nordic demons, trickster gods, and everything in between and  _ witches _ are what creep you out?”

“Hey! You ever see what they put in those friggin’ hex bags? Gross!” 

The pieces fell into place.

“Castiel isn’t human, is he?”

“No. Not really.” Dean agreed. “Don’t get me wrong, there are some mutants out there that can do some pretty impressive stuff, but Cas is in a league of his own. At the end of the day, a mutant is still human. Cas isn’t. He’s not human. But he’s not a monster either. Most of the creatures we come in contact with, you can work with them, but you can’t ever trust them. Cas is one of the few exceptions that prove the rule. And he’s stuck by us through thick and thin.”

“That scruffy angel is a part of the family.” Charlie put in.

“Angel?”

“Yep.” Dean made a face. “The only ones I’d trust are Cas, and his brother Gabriel. Gabe’s a cheeky little shit, but he’s got his heart in the right place. He and Cas helped save Charlie, Clint, and Adam a while back.”

“Clint and Adam. Those are your other two brothers?” Bucky checked.

Dean fumbled a wallet out of his pocket, and fished out a photo. Sam, Dean, and Charlie were hanging off of each other, a sun drenched field in the background. The light streamed past them in rays. In the middle of their puppy pile were a pair of young men. Both were blond, though the older of the two was more of a sandy color than true blond. They were all laughing at something. Hugging their siblings close.

Dean gestured at the photo, but didn’t crowd Bucky’s personal space by pointing at it directly. “We took that the day we got everyone back. The older one is Clint, he’s about Sam’s age. Charlie’s younger than them. The other blond is Adam. He’s our youngest.”

“And very salty about it.” Charlie teased.

What being the youngest had to do with salt, Bucky didn’t have a clue. And he was almost afraid to ask. But he studied the faces anyway, committing Clint and Adam’s faces to his sketchy memory. Hopefully he’d recognize them if he saw them, and wouldn’t attack them without a good reason. He gave a little nod, and Dean put the photo back in his wallet.

The older hunter clapped his hands. “Right. So let’s get you settled and give you a tour of the place. You can catch a shower after, and by then supper should be on the table. Sound good?”

“...sure”

“Ok, let’s move then.”

Sam stayed in the garage, patiently winding up the string he’d been fiddling with. Charlie and Dean were the ones to show him around. The bunker was bigger than he’d thought it would be, even after the reconnaissance he’d done before ever approaching the door. He was surprised to discover that the tower, which he’d thought was a sentry post, was actually home to a… a telescope? He didn’t understand why they had a telescope, but… oh well. They had a telescope. Charlie had offered to show him how to use it sometime. He wasn’t sure what the point of it would be.

… still, it sort of sounded interesting...

The rest of the bunker consisted of the garage, storage rooms, bedrooms, a kitchen, a living room/library, a basement, and…

“You… you have a... a  _ dungeon _ ?”

Dean made a face. “Yeah. Some of the things we hunt… they um, they take over a person. Some of them, it’s like brainwashing. Others, it’s more like pulling a puppet’s strings. They wear a person like a suit. And sometimes they don’t want to let go of the person they took control of. So we have to make them.”

Charlie nodded morosely. “Clint was one of those. A norse fire demon got a hold of him, and it took Sam and Dean  _ weeks _ to get him back.” 

Bucky stared at them. “You mean you put your own  _ brother _ down here?”

Dean’s face turned even grimmer. “No, we put a monster down here. We pulled our brother back out. Here, I’ll show you.”

In the room outside the dungeon, Dean led him to a tv in a corner. The film he showed him, of a fire haired  _ demon _ locked up in that heavy wooden chair, and another of gouts of fire billowing up out of the same demon’s throat and leaving behind Dean’s brother… it was unbelievable. And yet, he couldn’t deny the evidence of his own eyes. He watched as Sam and Dean, Castiel and a man he didn’t know quickly freed their brother from the chair. Clint, he reminded himself. That one’s name is Clint. And if the tender way they were handling him was any indication, they cared about him a whole awful lot. 

Supernatural creatures were real…

… as if the world weren’t weird enough.

“Our job is to protect people from the supernatural. We’d never put someone in that dungeon unless we had absolutely no other choice. I can barely think of a handful of times that we’ve ever had to use this thing, and if we’re lucky we won’t need it again.” Charlie explained gently.

Bucky eyed her and Dean. They were both waiting for his reaction. It unnerved him, he couldn’t deny it. Generally, if chains were involved they were for him. He didn’t like that these people had a dungeon in the basement. But at the same time, he was well aware that he couldn’t keep going the way he had been. The constant vigilance and travel were wearing him down, and there hadn’t been much of him to start with. He needed a place to rest and recuperate.

Castiel had been kind to him. Had helped him for no reason other than that he wanted to. Bucky couldn’t remember the last time someone had done that for him. He wanted to trust him… 

“Ok.”

After all, it wasn’t like he wasn’t armed.

* * *

 

 

The room they had offered him was bare and utilitarian.

A full sized bed had been pushed into the back corner of the room, with an old steamer trunk set up at the foot of the bed. There was a nightstand, and on the other side of the room was a closet and a dresser. Charlie had told him he could move the furniture if he wanted. He didn’t see the point, the furniture was functional no matter where it was located. Unless he wanted to barricade himself in. 

Then placement might matter. 

He finally slipped off his backpack and set it on the bed. It was worn and scrappy, just like him. It also stank. Seeing as how he’d pulled it out of a dumpster, it had an excuse. It hadn’t been in the best condition, but needle and thread had been easy enough to acquire. He hadn’t thought it would be much different from stitching wounds closed, but some back corner of his mind had perked up and softly suggested that it sorta was. His fingers had known what they were doing, even if he hadn’t. It happened like that sometimes. His body remembered skills, even if his head didn’t. And not all of those skills were things he could attribute to Hydra.

More proof that he was more than what Hydra claimed.

He shook the thought away. Right or wrong, now wasn’t the time to think about it. They’d told him he could use the amenities. And he hadn’t missed the way they wrinkled their noses when he got too close. He knew he was pretty rank. A shower was definitely in order.

Bucky shook the duffle out. His tac vest and cargo pants fell out, along with a water bottle and a few protein bars he’d pick-pocketed. As possessions went, it was kind of pathetic. But they were his. A shudder ran up his spine at the sight of the clothes. He ruthlessly stomped it back down. He needed to bathe, and the vest and cargo pants were at least slightly clean. He could wash his clothes while he was in the shower, and wear the vest and pants while he waited for them to dry. He would be alright for that long. He wouldn’t spontaneously revert to his programing if he wore the vest for an hour.

He really wished he was more certain of that.

He was halfway to the bathroom they’d shown him before he remembered he didn’t have soap. Bucky paused. Would it be alright if he used theirs? Or would that be some sort of social fuck up? He couldn’t remember, and he hadn’t thought to ask earlier. Would it be awkward to go find one of them and ask? Yeah, no. He’d just rinse off, clean his clothes as best he could, and hope that would be enough. It probably wouldn’t be. Maybe he should just…

“Bucky?”

Busted.

He flinched at the sound of his name. From up the hall, Charlie gave him a little smile. His grasp of social cues was corroded at best, but he thought that one was either embarrassed or apologetic. 

“Are you alright?”

Right, hanging out in a hallway with his assassin uniform in hand while vacillating like a dodo bird was probably the least reassuring thing he could’ve done. Especially after these people had opened their home to him. 

Bucky ducked his head. “I’m… I’m sorry, miss… I was… I was going to shower. Like you told me to... and a-a-and I realized I didn’t… I didn’t have soap.”

“Oh. Oh, no that’s fine, you can use whatever’s in the bathroom. Adam left one of those disgusting bottles of Axe soap, but the rest of what’s there smells pretty alright.” 

“Thanks.”

“No problem.” 

Her eyes dropped to the cargo pants and tactical vest in his hands, and he clutched them closer to his body. Whether that was to keep her from seeing what they were, or because some broken corner of his mind had the bizarre notion that this little slip of a thing could take them from him… He wasn’t sure. He wasn’t sure why he wanted them either, except that they were his, and too much had been taken from him already. The logical argument that the vest was bullet resistant didn’t hurt either.

Something in her expression softened, and Bucky wasn’t sure if that was better or worse.

“Bucky… Um… quick question? … are those your Hydra uniform?”

Worse, not better, definitely worse. 

“...yes.”

“Ok. Follow up question: You don’t have anything but that and the clothes on your back… do you?”

God, and he’d thought he couldn’t feel any worse than he already did. He’d scared her, she’d seen the uniform and had thought that he’d been triggered. She was smart enough to reach the right conclusion, thank god, but he’d definitely spooked her. And he felt like a heel for it.

“No… I’m sorry, I um, I didn’t mean to scare you...”

She waved off the apology. “It’s alright. I should’ve thought. Being on the run sucks, we should’ve thought that you might be short a few things. Here, come with me.”

Bucky nervously followed her back down the hall.

The door was marked with yellow tape. Dean had said yellow tape marked rooms with tools or weapons. Why would Charlie bring him here? Did she think he’d feel better with a weapon close to hand? He wracked his brain, trying to remember which of the rooms he’d seen recently was behind this door…

“This is Deans, but he won’t mind.” Charlie reassured as she pushed the door open.

… right. Yellow also marked bedrooms, for privacy. 

Although,given the sheer number of weapons mounted on the wall, it was entirely possible that Dean slept in the armory.

Charlie didn’t give the guns a second look. She headed straight to the dresser and raided it. The bundle of clothes she collected was stacked on top of his uniform, and she shepherded him back out of the bedroom again. All without touching him or making him feel like a child. 

“Go ahead and wear those. Let me know how these fit,okay? We’re making a grocery run tomorrow, we can pick up more for you then. Something that fits and you’ll be comfortable in. Along with whatever else you need. I’ll give you pen and paper after dinner and you can make me a list. Oh, and we have a washing machine of our own here, the boys got Clint to come over and help install it one day, since he’s the handyman type. So just drop whatever needs washed in the hamper. It’s a tall wicker basket in the bathroom, you can’t miss it. You can drop the um, the leather vest in there too. I’m not sure how to wash that, but I can find out. Oh, you don’t have any food allergies do you? I mean, that would suck. ‘Welcome to our home, here have a plate of anaphylactic shock. Hope you brought your epi pen.’ Seriously, that’d be rude. Anyway, allergies?” 

Bucky shook his head, overwhelmed by the word vomit. So much data getting thrown at him at once…

“Right, super soldier; you wouldn’t have allergies, would you? Ok, so whatever gets thrown on the table, you’re not gonna die on us. Good to know. Anyway, you go ahead and shower, I’m gonna go bug Dean. See you at dinner Bucky!”

Bucky watched her trot away, whistling a tune as she went. 

She was… energetic. Were all women that way? He couldn’t remember, but he was thinking it might just be a Charlie thing. He shook his head and hurriedly shut himself in the bathroom. 

He’d had enough human interaction for now.

* * *

 

 

The shower was incredible.

Ok, yeah, it was a shower. But  _ still _ , it was the first chance he’d had to get under hot water since he’d woken up from the ice. He’d pretty much been relying on rain and quick dips in whatever body of water he could find up to that point. He ducked his head under the spray and just let it pound. He hadn’t felt warm in far too long. 

Eventually he pulled himself back out of the shower and investigated the clothes Charlie had given him. A pair of blue jeans that had been worn enough to be pretty much broken in, but not enough that they had any holes. A navy blue t-shirt, and a pale plaid button up. Boxers too.

The big wicker basket was right where Charlie said it would be. But it was harder than he would’ve thought to put his old clothes in it. Bucky pinched the bridge of his nose. 

“Damn. Come on, it’s not like they opened their home to you just so they could steal your dirty clothes and tac vest.”

Appropriately chastised, he dropped the clothes. The sound of them hitting the hamper was sadly lackluster. The leather vest was slightly better, a more satisfying smack against the wicker. He was half tempted to pull it out and do it again, but harder. See if he could make the noise louder. That vest had caused him more than enough pain, it had felt good to smack it around, even if it was just into a hamper. 

“Yep. And abusing the laundry’ll make up for seventy years of brainwashing and abuse.”

Shaking his head, Bucky went to investigate what Charlie and Dean were making for dinner.

* * *

 

 

“Hey, there he is.” 

Sam glanced up at Dean’s greeting and grinned at their guest. The soldier was vacillating in the kitchen doorway, clearly debating coming into the kitchen. The man was dressed in clothes that Sam recognized as Dean’s in an instant. Charlie had given them a heads up about borrowing Deans clothes, just so there weren’t any misunderstandings. Dean didn’t mind, but they’d both felt bad when they realized just how little he had. Charlie was already mentally making a list for their grocery run, but they didn’t want to overwhelm him with too much right away.

It was still bizzare to see Bucky wrapped up in jeans and flannels, but it was a good kind of bizarre. It softened him a little, made him look less like a rabid stray that would take their hand off as soon as look at them. He still looked like a stray, but more like the kind you brought home from the pound and spent months convincing you’d never hurt it. He was still pale and gaunt, though. Hopefully, plenty of food and a safe place to rest would help.

Better start in on the convincing.

He waved the soldier over. “Come on in Bucky, supper’s just about ready. Dean made lasagna.”

Stack of plates in one arm, Charlie hugged Dean with the other before moving to set the table. “Remind me to thank Laura for teaching you how to make this. Seriously, she’d be proud of her young padawan.”

“Think she’d kick my ass if I taught all of their rugrats to call her ‘Master Yoda’ and Clint ‘Quigon-Jin’?” Dean fired back.

“Clint would probably think it’s hilarious, Laura would laugh, and then they’d teach the kids to call you Jar-Jar Binks in retaliation.” Charlie answered glibly.

Bucky awkwardly edged into the kitchen. Sharp gray eyes watched them shrewdly from behind thick brown hair. Pinballing from one of them to the next. He kept his left hand tucked in the pocket of his jeans, the hem of the button up bunched up over his wrist. Hiding it. 

Either self conscious or in the habit after flying under the radar for so long. It could’ve been either one, and Sam wasn’t sure which was better. “Go ahead, have a seat and dig in. We don’t stand on ceremony here. Dean actually is a pretty good cook, and he’d have to work pretty hard to mess up Laura’s lasagna recipe.” He thunked a canister of parmesan down on the table with a grin. “You can sprinkle Parmesan on it too if you want.”

Bucky slid into his seat with a nervous ‘thank you’. The others followed his lead. They passed the food around, chattering amongst themselves and offering him plenty of chances to join in the conversation. Slowly, Bucky relaxed a little. He stayed quiet, but some of the tension bled away. 

Charlie pushed the pan of lasagna towards Bucky with a grin. “Better hurry if you want seconds, everyone’s a hearty eater here.”

“Thanks.” Bucky mumbled. But he put more on his plate. “Um… after… I could… do you want me to do the dishes?”

Sam could already see the rebuttal on Dean’s lips. He cut in before his brother had a chance to say it. “If you want. But can we ask why?”

Bucky shifted nervously in his seat, eyes nailed to the plate he’d all but licked clean. “I…” his brow furrowed, the fingers of his right hand tapping nervously at the table. “... I want to help. You… you’re helping me. Giving me a, a place to stay… I want to help you back… Even if all I can do is wash the dishes.”

Sam smiled. “Ok. Just so long as you know you don’t  _ have _ to.” Bucky mumbled a quick ‘I understand’, and started gathering dishes. Sam snagged the lasagna pan and his own dishes. “If you’re washing, I’ll dry. After, I’ll show you where everything is so you can find it for yourself if you need to. Sound good?”

Bucky’s lips ticked up ever so slightly. “Okay.”

* * *

 

 

Stretched out on his bed, Bucky’s lips twitched up into the first real smile he’d had since 1945.

Maybe this would work out after all.

* * *

 


	2. First Book

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you like it guys!

* * *

The bunker was quiet.

Bucky liked that about the bunker. There were fewer noises to startle him, and he could tell if a noise was out of place. Well most of the time. He was still getting used to the place. It still startled him a little when someone played music, or when the timer went off in the kitchen. The worst had been when Sam’s phone rang. He hadn’t realized it was sitting right next to him. Bucky had almost smashed it and Sam’s hand before he’d realized it was a cell phone and Sam was reaching for  _ it _ not  _ him _ .

A crash and a yelp sounded from down the hall.

It sounded like Charlie. Bucky swung around the corner into the kitchen, knife in hand. If someone was looking to cause trouble, he’d be happy to show them they’d picked the wrong damn house…. Bunker… whatever.

“Woah! Slow your roll there terminator, there’s glass all over the place!”

Bucky skidded to a halt. Glass shards and bright yellow flowers swam around Charlie’s bare feet in a spreading puddle of water. She’d dropped a vase. He flushed and quickly put the knife back in it’s sheith. There wasn’t any trouble. It was just an accident. 

“You alright?”

Charlie huffed irritably at the mess, as if it was somehow the vase’s fault. “I’m fine. Just kinda stuck in a sea of glass and carnations… Could you hand me those slip-ons over by the freezer? I don’t want to cut my feet to ribbons.”

“Sure.”

He fetched the shoes and tossed them to her, careful to stay out of the blast zone with his own bare feet. She put them on balanced on one foot like the world’s most awkward flamingo. As soon as her feet were safe, she got a broom and dustpan out of a closet. At the same time, Sam stuck his head into the kitchen, apparently attracted by the noise. He eyed the mess of glass, stems, and petals and made a face.

“That sucks. You need any help?”

“No, I’ve got it. Thanks though.” She paused, looking at Bucky thoughtfully. “I do have a question for Bucky though. If that’s ok?” 

He rolled his hand in a little ‘go ahead’ gesture.

“Cool. So, um… I couldn’t help but notice that you kind of don’t do anything but patrol the building? At least, I think that’s what you’re doing?” He nodded. “Right, ok. So, I was wondering if that was something you  _  have _ to do? Or if you’re doing it because you literally have nothing  _ else _ to do?”

He fiddled with the oversized sleeve of the hoodie Charlie had bought him. The answer to her question was a little bit of both honestly. He’d spent so long without the  _ ability _ to make choices, he’d almost forgotten  _ how _ to make one outside of a mission setting. So, he patrolled. The building wasn’t as secure as they seemed to think it was, at least not by human standards. But it was secure enough for their needs. There wasn’t anything he could do to improve what they had. So he walked around the building, acquainting himself with the layout and checking the windows and exits.

Bucky ducked his head, hiding behind his hair. “Both. I… I need to check the perimeter. I have to… but I don’t know what I’m allowed to do either. So I keep watch. I know how to do that.” 

“Ok. Would you like something else to do?”

“Like what?”

“Well… do you like to read?”

“Um…” Bucky rummaged back through the chaotic grab bag of memories that were more bad than good. But the few good ones… he could remember trolling through the library. Not… not for himself, but for the people waiting at home. For three brunette girls of various ages. He hadn’t remembered their names, not until he’d seen their names at the museum. His little sisters, he’d learned. He’d chosen books for them, both to read  _ to _ them, and for  _ them _ to read when he was away. 

He’d also picked out books for a sickly blond. He still had trouble reconciling the small pallid boy with the tall, star spangled adonis that had released him from Hydra’s spell. But they were one and the same. He’d chosen books for that boy when he was bedridden, and had read to him when he was too feverish to focus on the page.

“I think… I think I used to.” He finally admitted.

Charlie smiled. “A lot of the books in the library are on the occult. I wouldn’t bother with them. But there are a lot of fiction books there too. I’d recommend Tolkien. ‘The Hobbit’ has always been one of my favorites. It’s fantasy, just a heads up. If that’s not your thing, we can find something you  _ do _ like.”

“I’ll try.”

“Cool.” She gestured at the mess at her feet. “I’m a little tied up right this second. Sam? Could you show him around the library and point out ‘The Hobbit’ for me?”

“Sure thing.”

* * *

 

 

_ In a hole in the ground there lived a hobbit. Not a nasty, dirty, wet hole, filled with the ends of worms and an oozy smell, nor yet a dry, bare, sandy hole with nothing in it to sit down on or to eat: it was a hobbit-hole, and that means comfort. _

 

It hadn’t occurred to Bucky that  _ printed _ words might bring back memories too.

Sam had shown him around, and had left him holding a copy of Charlie’s favorite book. He’d tried to settle in on the couch but… yeah, no. Being distracted while in a communal area wasn’t a good idea. After several false starts, he’d eventually ended up stretched across his bed with his gun right beside him. The next two hours were spent with Bilbo Baggins and a truckload of dwarves. 

He’d read this before.

He’d read it to his sisters, and to Steve. He remembered playing pretend with his sisters, reenacting dinner with the dwarves. The girls always had to draw lots to determine who got to be Bilbo, the rest just picked their favorite dwarf and filled in the other characters with his sisters’ stuffed animals. They’d roped Steve in too. If he was healthy, he played a dwarf, and if he was sick they draped him in a bunch of blankets and called him Gandalf. Whoever had won the right to play Bilbo would scramble around their makeshift table bemoaning their manners, and the ‘dwarves’ were out to be as vexing and slovenly as possible.

It had been  _ fun _ .

Bucky wiped at his eyes, careful not to get the pages wet. He’d completely forgotten about that until he’d read the description of dinner with the dwarves. What else had he forgotten? What else would he  _ remember _ as he read through the book? There was no way of knowing.

But he couldn’t wait to find out.

* * *

 

 

Charlie was getting worried.

She hadn’t seen much of Bucky over the past two days. He’d holed himself up in his bedroom. He came out regularly to patrol the bunker, and for meals. And then he retreated straight back to his room. 

Had they done something wrong?

She didn’t think they had, but with a past as messed up as his anything was possible. They’d just have to wait and see. Which sucked. Like,  _ really _ sucked. Because in situations like this, patience was totally  _ not _ her strong suit.

Lucky for her, she didn’t have to wait long.

* * *

 

 

“Charlie?”

The redhead tilted her head back over the couch and gave him a grin. It left her throat open and vulnerable. It would be so easy to crush it, either of his hands alone would be up to the task, or to cut it. 

Bucky averted his eyes, viciously shoving the unwelcome thought away.

“Bucky? What’s wrong?”

He swallowed hard. “You said… You said, if there was something I needed… That, that I just had to ask…” His throat went tight, and he let the sentence trail off. The Asset didn’t need things. The Asset wasn’t allowed to  _ ask _ for things. His voice was only for mission reports, and mission critical information passed to his handlers.

_ But you’re not the Asset. Not completely. _ Bucky scolded himself.  _ You are a person.  You’re allowed to  _ talk _. You’re allowed to  _ want _. You’re  _ allowed _ to  _ ask _. _

Charlie rolled herself right side up, her throat slightly less vulnerable with her chin resting on the back of the couch. “Sure. What do you need?”

“... A notebook? And a pen?”

She cocked her head. “Okay… Do you know how big a notebook you need?” He gestured helplessly and she grinned. “Ok, let me rephrase: What are you wanting to  _ do _ with it?”

Bucky ducked his head, holding up her slightly battered paperback. “I finished your book.”

“...aaaaand you want to write your own?”

“No. I… I remembered. I remember reading this before. Before  _ Hydra _ . I… I remember…”  _ I remember acting out scenes with my sisters. _ He wanted to say.  _ It reminds me of the time I spent overseas with the commandos. With Steve. _ He wanted to say it. 

He didn’t. 

The Asset wasn’t to display weakness.

Bucky pushed a hand through his hair, shoving words past the choke point in his throat and hoping they made sense to her. “The book reminded me… and I don’t want to forget again. I thought, maybe… if I could write it down…” He shouldn’t have asked, it was stupid. Abort! Abort! “I’m sorry, it was stupid. Um, thanks for, for lending me the book. I um, I tried to, to keep it nice. Didn’t… didn’t dogear the pages or anything...”

Charlie waved her hands. “Awe, Bucky, no! It wasn’t stupid. It’s actually a really good idea! Lots of people keep journals and diaries. I keep a sort of digital diary on a thumb drive.” She grinned. “And you’re welcome for the lend, thanks for taking good care of it. I don’t think I have any notebooks on hand… But we could ask Sam! Seems like he’s  _ always _ got legal pads and things lying around while we’re on hunts.” 

She turned and plopped back down on the couch, waiving for him over her shoulder. Her phone was out, and she was already texting Sam. On the coffee table, her laptop had gone to her screensaver. Pictures of people with funny speech bubbles. Given the odd clothing some of them were wearing, he’d guess that the photos were from movies or TV shows Charlie liked. 

Charlie’s phone started singing about llamas and she grinned at the screen. “Ok, so you’re in luck. Sam says he has a composition notebook he hasn’t started using yet. He says he’ll bring it out in a minute. Composition notebooks are about...” She held her hands out, mimicking the shape and size. “...about that big. And they average about seventy to a hundred sheets. You going to be doing a lot of writing? Or is this just a small thing?”

Bucky gingerly settled himself on the opposite end of the couch. “I… It’ll, it’ll be a… a lot. I think… I read through the whole book. And… and, and and, these memories. There were so many… I don’t want to lose them…” 

The number of words he’d managed to string together suddenly registered, and his mouth snapped shut so fast his teeth clicked together. He ducked his head, hiding behind his hair. He’d perfected that trick with his handlers. Head down, hair in the way. Only look up when absolutely necessary. Don’t catch their eye. Don’t talk. 

Be invisible in plain sight. 

Across the couch, Charlie bit her lip. “Then we’ll just have to make sure you don’t. Lose them, I mean… Ok? You can write everything down in the notebook while it’s fresh. And later? The next time we go into town? We’ll get you something a little more permanent. Composition notebooks are kind of cheap. We’ll get you something sturdy. Something with a hard cover. It’ll be harder to mess up by accident then. And we’ll get one with  _ lots _ of pages. That sound like a plan?”

His throat closed on him.

Bucky gave a wobbly nod. Hopefully it would be thanks enough. He held up her worn copy of ‘The Hobbit’. “....C...Can, can I?... um…”

She smiled, gentle, sunlit warmth in her gaze. “Of course.”

* * *

 

 

{Excerpts from James Barnes Journal}

  
  


_ I am ‘The Asset’.  _

_ I am ‘The Winter Soldier’ _

 

_ I am a person. _

 

_ My name is James Buchanan Barnes _

 

_ I will not forget again _

* * *

 

  
  


_ (Excerpt that triggered memory: The Hobbit) _

 

_...Thereupon the twelve dwarves - not Thorin, he was too important, and stayed talking to Gandalf - jumped to their feet, and made tall piles of all the things. Off they went, not waiting for trays, balancing columns of plates, each with a bottle on top, with one hand, while the hobbit ran after them almost squeaking with fright… _

 

_ *** _

 

_ “Please be careful!” A girl squeals. Her name is Rebecca. She is my youngest sister. She’s pretending to be Bilbo the hobbit, terrified of his plates being cracked and his bottles being smashed by the dwarves. _

_ Two other girls laugh and fend her off. _

_ Their names are Theresa and Rachel. Her older sisters. Theresa is the oldest, but younger than me. Rachel is the middle sister. They carry stacks of whatever they’d been able to lay hands on, all piled high in one hand while they fend Becca off with their free hand.  _

_ All three are brunette like me. _

_ I can’t remember whether we take after just one parent, or if both of our parents are like that. None have blue eyes like me though. Their eyes are brown. I wonder which parent we each take after.  _

_ Theresa and Rachel have pulled their hair forward, and tied and braided it to look like beards and mustaches. Becca has fuzzy mittens tied to her feet to mimic a hobbit’s hairy toes. _

_ They all scream and chase each other around the room. _

_ They have to jump and weave to avoid stepping on the other ‘dwarves’. Dolls and whatever other toys are close at hand stand in for the other characters.  _

_ I shake my head. I am pretending to be Thorin. Thorin does not clean up. He’s too important. But that’s alright. I don’t want to chase my sisters today. Today, I just want to sit.  _

_ “Gandalf, are you sure ‘Bilbo’ is up for this quest? He seems pretty excitable…” _

_ I want to be close to my friend. _

_ A boy sits next to me, wrapped in a pile of blankets. He is skinny, and pale. He’s been sick. Nothing that can catch, or he would not be here. But it has left him pale, weak, and easily chilled. He looks better than he did. But I know what to look for. I can see the signs. He is sick often. _

_ This one was bad.  _

_ That’s why his mother doesn’t want him to be alone. That’s why he plays Gandalf, because the pile of blankets mimic wizards robes, so that he can sit quietly without being left out of play.  _

_ A pointy hat made out of newspaper is shoved down over his blond head. I am proud of myself for that hat. It was my idea, and I made it. But I let my sisters have it. I let them bully him into wearing it. He doesn’t know it was me. I find the long suffering look on his face amusing. I’m already thinking of ways to tease him for it later. _

_ He smiles at me. _

_ Even though he must feel bad, tired, he still smiles for me. And I know that it’s for me. He is always trying to tell me that he’s ‘fine’. I know better than to believe him more than a quarter of the time. _

_ “Excitable.” He agrees. “But one of the best, one of the best - as fierce as a dragon in a pinch.” He breaks character with a snicker. “Pretty sure she gets it from your Ma, Bucky. Your Ma and sisters could give any old dragon a run for ‘is hoard!” _

_ I nudge him with an elbow. “Hey what about me?!” _

_ Something about his face goes soft. But he smiles for me, small, and elbows me back. “Nah. You’re a Bilbo. Adventures are all well and good. And you always come through when you’re needed. But when all’s said and done? When all’s said and done, you just want to be home. Home with your family, and the people you care about.” _

_ I wrap an arm around him and pull him close. _

_ “Nothin’ wrong with that.” I can’t help but grin, and add “ ‘sides, that means I’m the hero, the whole book’s about me after all.” _

_ “Yeah Buck. You’re our hero.” _

_ *** _

 

__ My sisters names are (In birth order) _ _

  * _Theresa_


  * _Rachel_


  * _Rebecca_


  * _The blond boy. I think his name is Steve?_


  * _He reminds me of the man on the bridge. His name is Steve too._


  * _Are they the same Steve?_


  * _How is that possible?_



 

 

_...I was their hero…? _

 

* * *

 

  
  
  


_ (Excerpt that triggered memory: The Hobbit) _

 

_ The trolls had just decided to roast the dwarves now and eat them later - that was Bert’s idea, and after a lot of argument they had agreed to it. _

 

***

_ I’m sitting in a group of men. _

_ We are all seated around a fire. It is night. Cold. Everyone is bundled up in as many layers as we can manage. There are six men aside from me.  _

_ A short asian man. His name is Jim Morita.  _

_ A frenchman: Jacques Dernier. (Frenchie? I think?) _

_ A large man with a moustache: Timothy Dugan (They call him Dum Dum?) _

_ An African American man: Gabriel Jones. (Gabe) _

_ A British man: James Montgomery Falsworth. (Monty. I’m certain) _

_ A tall, broad blond: Steven Grant Rogers (Captain America. He is the man on the bridge. I am certain now. He is Steve… Punk?) _

_ We are all dressed in uniforms. Not all our uniforms match. The fire crackles. There is a good smell in the air.  We found a stream earlier, were able to catch some fish. They’re cooking on sticks over the fire. Almost ready.  _

_ The men are happy. They’re laughing, joking and pushing at each other. It’s a good night. I’m glad I’m here to share it with them.  _

_ My entire body aches, all the way down to my bones. It has ever since Azzano. But here, amongst these men, I can ignore it. I am content. These men. My friends.  They have my back. They would give their all to keep me safe. _

_ And I would die for them. _

_ Steve elbows me. Offers me a stick from the fire, the white meat sizzling. “Here. You take the first off the fire.” _

_ I try to push it back to him. I know he needs more calories than the rest of us. Probably the rest of us combined. “Steve…” _

_ “We’ll all get what we need, there’s more than enough tonight. And don’t think I didn’t see you passing some of your rations off to that family back there. You’ve gotta be hungry by now Buck. Go ahead, eat. We’re all good here. I promise.” _

_ “Thanks Stevie.” _

_ Steve wraps an arm around my shoulders and pulls me against him. “Anytime Buck. Anytime.” _

***

 

  * __Steve has a lot of nicknames.__



 

* * *

  
  


_ (Excerpt that triggered memory: The Hobbit) _

 

_ Alive without breath,  _

_ As cold as death; _

_ Never Thirsty, ever drinking,  _

_ All in mail, never clinking. _

 

***

_ It’s cold. _

_ So cold.  _

_ I’m not surprised. I was frozen solid less than an hour ago. I don’t like what happens when I’m awake. But I like sleeping even less. Being alive, but unable to do… anything. It is hell. And I long for the moment when my mind can no longer take it, and shuts down in self preservation.  _

_ That is the only time I know peace. _

_ The technicians move around me. They are making sure that their weapon is functional. They ask me to do things. Move this. Rotate that. Repeat after me. Look here.  _

_ Senses. _

_ Maneuverability.  _

_ Motor control.  _

_ Cognitive capabilities.  _

_ All must be verified to within acceptable limits prior to mission assignment. _

_ Something is wrong. My handlers are in the room. They should not be here yet. My handlers don’t come until I have been certified fit for duty.  _

_ But here they are. _

_ My handlers speak even as the technicians give me tasks to complete.They are demanding answers. I do not have answers. I don’t know what they want. I don’t know. I try to give them what they want.  _

_ I try.  _

_ It is not enough. _

_ “Asset. Your answers are not satisfactory. Report to the lab for punishment and reconditioning.”  _

_ No!  _

_ Please, no! _

_ Anything but that! _

_ I’ll do whatever you want, but please…! _

_ I don’t say it. I don’t dare. I am not allowed to speak unless ordered to. To fight unless in service to my masters. To do either, is to invite further pain. I do not give my handlers invitations if I can avoid it. They seldom need an excuse to punish, and I don’t want to make it worse.  _

_ What’s coming is bad enough. _

_ I am taken to another lab, and stripped. Clothes are for people. I am not a person. I only pretend to be one for functionality’s sake on missions. I am ordered to stand in the center of the room. The tools they intend to use for punishment and recalibration are laid out on tables along the wall. _

_ I close my eyes, and await the inevitable. _

_ It doesn’t take long for the pain to start. _

***

 

  * __…__



 

  
  


* * *

 

_ (Excerpt that triggered memory: The Hobbit) _

 

_ “It is well that I have found you!” said the man striding forward. “You are needed and we have looked for you long. You would have been numbered among the dead, who are many, if Gandalf the wizard had not said that your voice was last heard in this place. I have been sent to look here for the last time. Are you much hurt?” _

_ “A nasty knock on the head, I think,” said Bilbo. “But I have a helm and a hard skull. All the same I feel sick and my legs are like straws.” _

 

***

 

_ There is a man on the bridge.  _

_ I know this man… _

 

_ He tells me I am a person. _

_ That I am his friend. _

_ James Buchannen Barnes. _

 

_ He tells me that he is with me, “Til the end of the line.” _

_ Even when I hurt him.  _

 

_ He still tells me that I’m a person. _

 

_ He still tells me that I’m his friend. _

 

_ I don’t believe him.  _

_ I can’t. _

_ I’m afraid. _

  
  


_...But I want to. _

* * *

  
  
  


Bucky shyly set the book on the table by Charlie and pulled away.

She gave it a curious look, then smiled at him. “Got everything written down?”

“Yes. I… I wanted to, to thank you… For the uh, the book. And the journal. And the memories. I got so… so  _ many _ …” He ducked his head, tucking his hands behind his back. 

“...so… thank you.” he finished weakly. 

Charlie ran loving fingers over the cover of the book. “You’re welcome. I’m glad the hardcover journal is working for you. Did you like  _ The Hobbit _ ? I mean, you said you read it before, but you might’ve just read it for school or something…”

“Yeah. Yeah, I… I liked it. Tolkien was a good writer.”

She grinned. “Yeah, he was. Would you like to read more?”

Bucky froze, excitement buoying up in his chest. “There’s more?”

“Oh honey…” Charlie leaned over to pat his arm. “There’s at least three more books, more if you count the Silmarillion and the Lost Tales.” She grinned. “Come on. I’ll hook you up!”

She bounced off down the hall.

Bucky trailed after her with an excited little grin.

* * *

 

 

It took him less than a week to tear through  _ The Lord of the Rings _ .

 

He couldn’t  _ wait _ to see what  _ else _ she had to recommend!

* * *

 

**Author's Note:**

> Yes?
> 
> No?
> 
> Maybe so?
> 
> Tell me what you think in the comments below! 
> 
> And if you have any thoughts on what else might be new... well, I wouldn't be opposed to hearing about it!
> 
> Come play with me on Tumblr! https://dragonimpal67.tumblr.com


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